


A New Hope

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehydrated Rations, Developing Relationship, Gen, IN SPACE!, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, The Force, Tsukikane Week, quick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Death Star is coming closer and closer into view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Hope

“They pay a lot of money for people like you, you know.”

Kaneki’s eyes snap open. He looks to the side, heart pounding in his throat. The taller of the two Ghouls Yoshimura hired to transport them sits draped around the back of the rotating chair at the med station. The one with the blaster and easy, slightly lopsided smile. 

The Gourmet.

“Who?”

The Gourmet cocks his head. It rests against his left shoulder and bicep. His smile doesn’t change. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“The Empire.”

Kaneki grits his teeth. “What do you mean, people like me.”

It earns him a languid blink. The Gourmet’s eyes him. The lazy, self-assured expression of a predator. The hair on the back of Kaneki’s neck stands up. He looks like so many of the spectators in Jabba’s audience.

“Ghouls. Force-sensitives. Both are very valuable.”

Kaneki sits up. Hisses. The wound to his stomach aches still. He wonders if it’s ever going to heal now that Kanou isn’t around to stitch him up. Not that he ever wants to see Kanou again. He’d rather be on the run with Yoshimura. Which reminds him –

“Where’s Yoshimura-san?”

“With the Rose and the droids,” the Gourmet says, which could mean anything. “An old man and two buckets of bolts…”

Kaneki clenches his fists. It makes the Gourmet’s smile twitch before his eyes slide shut. The small lights around Kaneki flash. His vital signs. A bunch of other indicators he doesn’t understand. It’s in what he assumes is the Gourmet’s native tongue. It’s a Ghoul ship, made years and years ago when they still had their home planet. That’s what Yoshimura had said.

“We can trust them,” Yoshimura had whispered, too, against the shell of Kaneki’s ear as they ran behind them out of the cantina. “They don’t sell Ghouls.”

“Gourmet-san.”

A single red eye opens. It glints in the dimness.

“Do you regret picking us up?”

The other eye opens. “Regret?” he murmurs, a distant echo, before he smiles again, toothy and unhumoured. “Regrets are part of life, aren’t they?”

There’s nothing to say to that. The Gourmet chuckles, eyes sliding shut again. After a long moment, Kaneki lies back down. Forces himself to look away. There’s only the wall of the berth or the ceiling. He looks at the ceiling. Someone has etched tally marks in chalk onto it so thickly they covers the entire surface. There’s similar tally marks in the recreational room, also on the ceiling. 

Kaneki shuts his eyes.

 

Alderaan is gone.

Home is gone.

The hope that Kaneki clung to for those terrible years in Jabba’s service, the one bright light that he convinced himself that someday, somehow he’d see his home, full of water blue and field green again: it is gone.

Yoshimura sits. Eyes wide. He looks like an old man.

“I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.”

Kaneki felt it, too, but maybe differently. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he fought to live for so long. It’s gone.

The ship is quiet. The little R2-D2 whirrs sadly next to Kaneki. Yoshimura is rests his hand on Kaneki’s shoulder briefly before allowing him some space. The recreational room feels large and lonely. He sits there of hours, listening to the whirrs of R2 and the faint, strange clicking of the Ghoul ship. 

Maybe –

The ship jolts so hard that Kaneki pitches forward onto his face. R2-D2 and C-3PO shriek in surprise just as there’s a scream from somewhere else in the ship. Kaneki scrambles to his feet as the ship rattles, racing to the cockpit. 

“What –”

“Locked onto us,” the Gourmet snarls, punching between buttons on the console. 

The Rose in the copilot seat says something that Kaneki can only guess is very impolite. Kaneki looks out the window. He wishes he hadn’t.

The Death Star is coming closer and closer into view.

“It’s huge.”

It’s a disaster. They manage to rescue Kirishima Touka and wouldn’t have managed to escape without her help, but Yoshimura dies at the hands of the Killing Owl. Kaneki reopens the wound in his side by releasing Rize’s kagune. His kagune. He lies back in the medbay berth, haphazard dressing by the Rose slowly soaking through.

“What are all the tally marks for?”

The Gourmet looks up from the med station. Turns. He’s still wearing the black Stormtrooper shirt. It stinks of the trash compactor and still has the hole in the back from where he’d released his kagune. He has a packet of dehydrated rations in hand. It’s the peculiar dark red that all Ghoul rations are. They’re very expensive.

Kaneki used to have to make a kill in the ring to get a full portion.

“The –” he starts to question, not understanding, before he notices where Kaneki is looking. “Ah.”

He’s quiet. Kaneki looks to him fully. He’s looking up, which makes Kaneki look at the ceiling of the medbay itself for the first time. It’s also covered in the tally marks. That means, Kaneki realizes, they’re probably everywhere on the ship.

“We don’t do that anymore,” the Gourmet says, that odd, distant tone. “We ran out of room…”

He turns away. Sets about rehydrating the ration at the sink. He hums to himself. Cantina tunes. He splits the ration between two bowls, stirring vigorously. He smiles lightly when he turns around, two bowls of savoury slop in hand.

“For tonight’s menu: _bouillabaisse_!”

Despite everything, Kaneki snorts. Is this why he calls himself the Gourmet? He accepts the bowl and they eat in silence. It’s not enough to make Kaneki feel full, but it makes the hunger more manageable. He licks the spoon and plate clean, unwilling to waste even a bit of residue. When he looks up, he watches the Gourmet do much the same, bent in a shielding hunch at the med station.

 

They reach the rebel base at Yavin 4. Hide is there. There’s a mad, mad plan to attack and blow up the Death Star. It’s so mad, in fact, that it works. Yoshimura whispers to Kaneki through the Force. It comes with a cost, of course. Hide is gone. Kaneki tries his best to smile as Touka puts a medal around his neck. It hangs, a heavy rock on his chest.

He wanders through the celebration. People clap him on the shoulder, which only reminds him of who he’s looking for. The Gourmet did that the first time they met back what feels like a million years ago when Kaneki was only aiming to escape from Jabba with a couple of weird droids and Yoshimura. He never wanted to be a hero. He never wanted to have to acknowledge the strange pull that he got sometimes. He never wanted to be half of a dying race. 

He finally finds the Gourmet back near the Ghoul ship. The Rose is there, too. They’ve both taken off the medals. They stand close together, arms deep in a crate full of what Kaneki realizes are Ghoul rations. The Rose looks up first as Kaneki approaches, reaching over to alert the Gourmet. Kaneki stops a couple paces from them, watching as the Gourmet folds over a page on his clipboard. 

“Are you leaving?”

The Gourmet smiles. Toothy. Predatory. The Rose turns back to the crate, sorting the ration packets.

“Fifteen thousand credits,” the Gourmet says before nodding to the crate, “and a bonus.”

“Kind of them,” the Rose mutters.

“Yes,” the Gourmet agrees, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Kaneki. “Are you going to stay?”

Kaneki bites his lip. The medal sits heavy on his chest. Above them, the night sky is clear. The stars are clearly visible.

“I think so.”

The Gourmet hums. He sets the clipboard down. Leans back against the crate, supporting himself with the hands on the edge. It’s a huge crate. There must be at least a year’s worth of Ghoul rations in there. Kaneki knows now that it’s more than enough to last the Gourmet and the Rose. They’re not feared in the galaxy just as smugglers. They’re feared because they eat their enemies.

Now that they’ve helped the Rebel Alliance, it’s painted a massive target on both of their heads. Not as big as Kaneki, who destroyed the Death Star, but close. Money easily overrides fear.

“The Empire is still out there,” Kaneki says; he takes a step forward before he stops again. “We could use your help.”

The Gourmet’s smile twitches. “So you have decided to stay.”

Kaneki shrugs. It makes the medal shift and thump over his breast. The Gourmet looks away. Into the crate of rations. To the Rose, who looks up at him. They stare at each other for a long time, communicating in that silent way some people have. After an eternity, the Gourmet blinks. He looks back at Kaneki, a side-eye in glowing red.

“Alright,” he says, and he smiles, slow, languid, and predatory. “Then I suppose I should introduce myself. Properly.”

He steps forward. Closes the space between them. He leans into Kaneki, nosing against his cheek, below his ear, against his neck. Kaneki hears him breath in. Deep and long. Like Rize once did. Scenting.

“Hello,” the Gourmet whispers against the skin of Kaneki’s neck. “I’m Tsukiyama Shuu.”


End file.
